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Part Two

Myrrh is mine: Its bitter perfume
Breathes a life of gathering gloom. Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding dying, Sealed in the stone-cold tomb.

-from "We Three Kings of Orient
Are",
John H. Hopkins, Jr.

I did not think; I simply acted. If I had stopped to think, I
likely
would have reconsidered my actions - think of it, a young man being
stripped
by an old woman twice his age! - but I did not. Severus was injured,
perhaps
gravely, and I was the only person in a position to help him. There
was
certainly no time for modesty. Thus, I unbuttoned his shirt, peeled
it
carefully away where the blood had coagulated and affixed the fabric
to
his skin - Severus twitched - and placed it neatly on the floor
beside
me. Performing a quick Cauterizing Charm on him, I started a fire
with
my wand, warmed some water and added soap, sat down on a stool, and
began
to sponge the blood off of his chest.

Severus reminded me a great deal of my nephew. Meleagrant was
moody
and dark, like Severus. However, Meleagrant had a lighter side - he
was
rather like young Percy Weasley in that aspect. He was stiff, but
somewhat
capable of relaxing and having a good time like young people should
do.
Meleagrant had a wicked sense of dry humor and a penchant for card
games,
and he was an excellent Quidditch player. In general, he was what I
thought
that Severus could be like if he was only given the chance.

I remembered Severus as a first-year: quiet, bright, and
hard-working.
He wasn't dark then - no, Severus enjoyed life, he had friends, he
was
all right. And then he got older. I saw how he looked at Lily Evans
-
I'd had my share of unrequited love and I could certainly recognize
the
signs. I saw how James Potter and Sirius Black - lighthearted though
they
were - tortured him. And then, when given the opportunity to strike
back,
he did. That polite young man with the world ahead of him became a
Death
Eater.

I looked on my students as my children. A parent should not
outlive
her children, as I had outlasted Potter and Evans. A parent should
not
stand idly by while her children are miserable, either, as I
believed
- no, knew - that Severus was. Meleagrant, for all his dark
moods
and stiff nature, was never like this. Meleagrant had been raised
and
shaped in much the same environs as Severus, Slytherin and all.
Something
had caused Severus to go in another direction, and that something
might
likely explain what Severus was doing drunk in Hogsmeade on
Christmas
Eve.

I rinsed the sponge out in the basin and went to the bathroom.
I
poured the red-tinged water down the sink, opened the cabinet, and
pulled
out two flasks. One contained a hangover treatment, and the other
contained
a common analgesic potion. I kept the hangover treatment there for
Meleagrant
- he was of age, and he did not have a very good head for alcohol.
Closing
the cabinet, I took the flasks back into the living room, stopping
by
the small kitchenette on my way to get a cup. I set my load down on
the
floor, retrieved his cloak, spread it over him, pulled out my wand,
and
said clearly, "Ennervate."

His hooded, guarded eyes blinked open, and with a gasp, he sat
up.
The cloak fell away from his chest, and he clasped it to him like a
child
with a stuffed animal. He looked at me blankly for a moment, and
then
his face was contorted into a mixture of fear and fury.

I reached down for the flask containing the hangover
medication,
poured some into a cup, and handed it to him. "Drink this. It's
for
your hangover."

Severus scowled, one hand reaching up to massage his temple.
"I
want some answers first."

"I give you nothing until you drink this," I said
firmly.

He snatched the cup from me and bolted down its contents,
making
a horrible face. "This is served best - if that's possible -
when
warm. I would think that even a Transfiguration teacher would know
that."

My voice was icy. "And I should think that even a Potions
teacher
would know better than to roam the streets of Hogsmeade during a
blizzard,
'drunk as a Muggle', as Madam Rosmerta put it."

He had the decency to look abashed, but only briefly.
"Answers."

"Give me a question," I said.

"Where is this?"

"This is my flat in Hogsmeade."

He seemed incredulous. "You keep a flat in
Hogsmeade?"

I said curtly, "Yes, I do." A change of subject was
in
order. "Do you feel pain anywhere?"

"My chest hurts - " His voice cut off abruptly, and
he
dropped the cloak in order to examine his torso, where the
Cauterizing
Charm had repaired the dreadful gash in his chest. He traced a
finger
down the still-inflamed skin where a scar would soon form. He paled,
but
said nothing.

I took the cup and filled it with the analgesic. "Drink
this."
He did. "Better?"

"Somewhat." He eyed me as a cornered fox did its
pursuers.
"You found me?"

"Oh, yes. To be precise, I stepped on you. You were passed
out
in the snow. I imagine the blood loss, combined with the cold and
the
empty bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky you had in your hand, was
enough
to make you pass out. I moved you here, cleaned you up some, and
here
you are." I couldn't keep a hint of sarcasm out of my voice,
although
I tried.

He stared down at his hands, speaking quietly and without a
trace
of acid in his voice. "I suppose that I am in your
debt."

"And you owe me some explanations," I said.
"Especially
if I'm not going to go to Albus about this." That last phrase
surprised
me as much as it did Severus - I was infamous for enforcing rules
and
propriety for a reason.

Severus stared at a spot behind my head - I was well aware it
was
at the picture of Medea, her husband Finn, my brother Maimonides,
his
wife Demetria, and Meleagrant. He said quietly, "I ran into an
old
colleague. We argued."

"I'm correct in assuming that this old colleague is
a…"
I didn't want to say it. However, he said it for me.

"A Death Eater?" He smiled wryly, deprecatingly,
looking
straight into my eyes. "Oh, yes. He was a Death
Eater."

I decided not to comment on his pointed use of the past tense.
"And
then?"

"And then I made it to the Three Broomsticks, where the
bartender
was kind enough to give me that bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. I
sat
for a while, rather dazed, and drank the contents. Madam Rosmerta
entered
the main room, saw me, and insisted on booting me out. I remember
wandering
up the street for a while, and then everything blanks out." His
gaze
returned to the picture. "And that is what happened."

After a moment, I said calmly, "It's not good enough,
Severus."

His dark eyes bored into me, blazing with the added light of
the
fire. It was a task not to shrink from that look, but I kept eye
contact.
"Not good enough?"

"Not good enough. You had words with your - your former
colleague."
I noticed him wince slightly; he had recognized the unintended
double
entendre. "I want to know what those words were."

Severus stared at me. "You - you can't know. You
can't."

"Severus, as young Lavender Brown would put it, I have
'dirt'
on you. Don't make me use it." And he knew I would. That was
the
useful thing.

He shook his head. I tried another tactic. By this time, I was
curious.
"Severus, I know that Albus is your mentor, your confessor. But
he
is not here. By the time we'd get back to Hogwarts, he'll be up at
the
Ministry, dining with Fudge. You can't tell him what's gone on
today.
And Severus, don't forget that I've been teaching a good deal longer
than
you have. I know when a student of mine needs to talk about
something.
Just - just try." I did not smile, for I knew he would see that
as
unnecessary sentimentality.

Severus did not speak for a long while. Then he said, "I
felt
the Dark Mark this morning, Professor. It burned worse than it has
in
a long time. So much that I left the school - I knew one or another
of
the Death Eaters would be coming for me, and I did not want to put
the
school at risk. It never burned that horribly unless there was
something
urgent…" He swallowed heavily. "I came here, and indeed,
someone
came. I met him in an alley. We fought. I - I killed him." I
tried
to keep my face impassive, but I didn't succeed. "Professor, I
didn't
want to kill him. It was self-defense." He looked at me
pleadingly
from behind that iron wall of self-reliance, seemingly asking me -
me!
- for clemency.

It broke my heart. The old first-year was still there. Was this
what
Albus saw when he looked at Severus? The scared young man who had
made
bad choices and regretted it? The young man resigned to his fate,
whatever
it was, figuring that whatever happened to him was a product of his
past
sins?

In that instant, I realized two things about Severus. The first
was
why Albus trusted him with running interference between the Order
and
the Death Eaters. Underneath that well-crafted, impenetrable
façade
he had erected, there was that polite, brilliant young man - a young
man
who was integrally good and integrally trustworthy. The second thing
that
I realized was how much work Albus had put into Severus. All the
years
Severus had been teaching at Hogwarts - and likely a few years
before
that - Albus had been a combination of a therapist and a Muggle
clergyman
for him. After Severus had left the Death Eaters, he'd needed
someone.
His own parents were dead. He had no siblings. Due to the nature of
his
relationship with James Potter and Sirius Black, he came in contact
with
his headmaster a good deal. Albus would have cultivated a
relationship
with young Severus, encouraged him, told him that he was worth
something,
despite anything that his Slytherin brethren and my own Gryffindors
would
have him believe. Severus remembered that, and turned to Albus when
he
was in danger. I remembered him coming to Hogwarts as sort of an
apprentice
the summer before He Who Must Not Be Named's initial defeat. Albus
had
told me that he needed a place to stay for a while, and he would
take
over Professor Buckminster's Potions job at the beginning of the
year.
But couldn't he have just as easily been on the run from the Death
Eaters?

Albus had always kept a spot in his world for Severus - a spot
that
Severus needed. I had not. Was this, then, an opportunity for me to
give
him the support that I should have given him years ago when he
turned
away from his solid upbringing, when he joined the Death Eaters, and
when
Lily Evans died? I could not shake the idea.

"Severus…Severus, I - " Even if I knew what I was
going
to say, I couldn't have said it at that moment. Instead, I simply
reached
out for his hand and squeezed it firmly, trying to compose my
thoughts.

And to my surprise, Severus squeezed back, closing his eyes,
shadows
dancing malevolently over his face. "Professor, I knew they'd
come
back eventually. I was alone and unprotected, Professor Dumbledore
was
going up to London, it was Christmas Eve. I didn't have anything to
live
for. I had just killed a man. Nobody…nobody would have missed me. So
I
went into the Three Broomsticks, convinced the bartender to give me
that
bottle of Ogden's, and went outside. The wind had picked up. I
walked
down the street, drinking as I went, hoping it would - hoping it
would
dull some of the pain." If what I thought was coming next truly
was
coming, I didn't want to hear it. "And - I took out the knife I
use
in class and - "

I couldn't let him say it. "I know, Severus."

"No - let me say it…I must…" He kept his eyes shut,
speaking
quickly. "I stabbed myself with it. And then I made it about
thirty
feet before I fell. It felt good to fall in the snow…a soft pillow…a
good
place to die. I remember thinking that I was making a grand
Christmas
surprise for whoever found me, and then after that, I don't remember
anything."

What could I say to that? I couldn't condemn him. It wasn't as
though
I hadn't felt the same way at least once in my life. It wasn't as
though
I hadn't tried to achieve the same ends, either. I didn't know if
saying
anything would help, but I would try.

//

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